Far Too Curious
by razzle-dazzle-me
Summary: Complete! Newly knighted, Gary and Raoul sit late one evening discussing mistresses and moustaches, their friend Squire Alan's uncanny lack of both, when a catastrophic realisation hits…
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Newly knighted, Gary and Raoul sit late one evening discussing mistresses and moustaches, their friend Squire Alan's uncanny lack of both, when a catastrophic realisation hits…

Disclaimer: All belongs to the one and only Tamora Pierce.

A/N: Hi! This is just a short three part story I wrote for fun, please don't take it too seriously- characterisation and such weren't as high a priority as the entertainment factor. Stay tuned for 'Guilt Only When All Is Too Late'and 'Those You Know Best', that will be posted soon! Enjoy :-)

**Part One**

**-The Spark of Curiosity Ignites-**

… … … … …

The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity.

-Ellen Parr

… … … … …

The night was cool, a wintry breeze passing over the darkened city streets. Most persons had long since retired to their warm beds, or alongside other such comforters.

But high up in the palace, between three and a half empty bottles of wine, two friends sat side by side with sinking eyelids, yet to be taken in to the realm of dreams. Newly knighted, Sirs Raoul of Goldenlake and Gareth the Younger of Naxen, were celebrating in the formers personal suite, making the most of their return from Persopolis.

Raoul yawned, prodding the dying flames in the fireplace with a rusted iron poker, in a vain attempt to keep the diminishing heat alight.

"Let it go," Gareth urged, waving a hand in dismissal. "I fear I may as well perish here tonight from frostbite, and forego all future heartache and miseries."

Raoul merely rolled his eyes, unconcerned with his friends melodramatics. Gareth had been moaning all night as it were, and did not seem likely to stop any time soon.

"Firstly," Gareth continued, "Jonathan takes my lady."

Raoul snorted, interrupting, "Now Gary, Delia was never yours to claim-"

"And then he takes my Squire."

"That was your fathers decision. And don't you think Jonathan needs the best-"

"He was my friend first! I sponsored Alan!"

Raoul just nodded, murmuring under his breath.

"And did you see him flirting with all the ladies last night? Did you _see_ his dismal attempt at the manly growth of a moustache?"

Again, Raoul did not bother to rebuke, for their Prince had indeed been seen the night before bearing the ever so slight beginnings of a beard.

"A moustache!" Gary cried, flinging his goblet into the air, which subsequently spilt wine all over Raoul's furnishings. "And one not nearly as handsome nor eloquent as mine!"

Raoul nodded again, barely refraining himself from laughter. "But come now Gary," he reasoned, "surely it is Jonathan's right to grow a moustache if he so wishes."

"But who would not want a moustache, especially as I parade one so grand as my own!" Gary sighed, belated, forgetting entirely that the knight he sat next to bore no facial hair whatsoever - by choice.

"Alan would not want one," Raoul proclaimed, clasping at straws to draw the conversation away from the rather touchy topic of Jonathan.

"Alan!" Gary laughed, taking the bait. "Alan could not grow a hair if his life depended on it, nor for that matter could he even find it in himself to bed a woman! The boy is entirely too feminine, if I do say so myself."

"Oh Gary," Raoul groaned. His friend was an insufferable drunk. "Leave off Alan, please."

"Why, has the boy ever shown the slightest bit of interest in a woman?" Gareth stood then, his mind enlightened with this trail of thought. "No! Never! He does not even care to _dance_! Which, again if I do say so, is a great offence in itself."

"_I_ do not like dancing either!" Raoul piped up in defence. "It is not that unusual, really."

"No, perhaps not," Gary continued slowly, "but what of his other oddities? The secrecy, the impending conservativeness! Never swimming, with no honest reason as to why, and never to remove but his shirt in public view!"

Raoul closed his eyes, leaning back on the sofa. Many a far greater -far more sober- minds had been over this subject repeatedly, and no revelations had ever come of it. Alan was… well… he was just Alan, nothing more. Quite intriguing, yes. But nothing completely bizarre.

Gary shuddered, coming to a holt in front of the dying flames, a hand stroking his moustache in thought. "Now," he said, even more slowly than before, "see here…"

"See what?" Raoul asked, his eyes again open.

"What if…" Gary frowned, uncertain. _Dare he voice it?_ "What if our little friend is…"

"What!"

Gary cursed, looking hard at Raoul, debating how to phrase his impediment. "Gay."

"Happy?" Raoul asked incredulously. "You mean to say he is _happy_?"

"No! No…" Gary rolled his eyes. "I mean he is homosexual! He is in love with another man!"

Raoul snorted. "Well, _that_ is just ludicrous."

"Is it? Is it really?"

"Yes!" Raoul laughed, brandishing his arms in complaint. "That is as preposterous as saying…"

"Yes? As what?"

"As saying…" Raoul frowned, desperate to come up with something substantial.

"Hmmm…?" Gary grinned wickedly, thinking his argument won.

"That is as preposterous as saying Alan is indeed a female himself!" Raoul grinned back, triumphant. "That the reason Alan does not grow a moustache, does not bed even a mistress, does not care to dance or swim or take off his shirt, all amount to that Alan is not a man nor boy, but a female, deceiving us all!"

Gareth dropped to his knees, clasping his stomach as insane laughter fought to escape him. "A woman? A woman!" He discarded the loosing battle, and fell about the floor in a shrill fit of giggles.

"Yes, and why not?" Raoul placed his own goblet on the side table, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Was it not you whom said, just minutes ago, that our Alan is, I quote '…entirely too feminine…'! Give me one good reason as to why, beyond any doubt, Alan could not possibly be female."

"Because," Gary spluttered, propping himself up against the table. "He is male! He is a Squire! He has no breasts, and he is by far the worst liar I know!"

"Hmmm…" Raoul trailed away, considering these obstacles, the notion swelling in his brain.

And as the night drew on, as many more bottles of wine were consumed, Raoul could not shake the feeling that they had wondered on something big. Something partly truthful. Something that would indeed need further investigation.

And the morning came upon the city of Corus, bright and cheerful, and the occupants of the palace slowly awoke to begin another day, most unawares of the step closer they were to dissolving the mystery that surrounded one Squire Alan of Trebond.

But Raoul thought longer on the subject, pondering on it for days and days, until at last he had come up with a plan.

He would find out for sure, no matter to the consequences, the gender of their small red-haired friend.

… … …

A/N: Reviews are very much appreciated, as always.


	2. Chapter 2

Summary: Newly knighted, Gary and Raoul sit late one evening discussing mistresses and moustaches, their friend Squire Alan's uncanny lack of both, when a catastrophic realisation hits…

Disclaimer: All belongs to the one and only Tamora Pierce.

**Part Two**

**-Guilt Only When All Is Too Late-**

… … … … …

I loathe that low vice curiosity.

-Lord Byron

… … … … …

It had been a hard enough task in itself to get Alan alone, and only harder to make Gary agree to accompany him. But alas, Raoul no longer had any choice in the matter; finding out whether or not Alan was female had become an obsession. One that, as Gary had said to him quite fiercely, had no basis nor ingenuity.

Reflecting on it later, Raoul only wished he had stopped then to listen.

Finally, a long sleepless fortnight from their initial celebration, Alan had arrived back from his errand for Sir Myles of Olau, and Raoul's plan was able to be put forth into motion.

_"It's the only way," Raoul had reasoned with the other large knight. "If Alan never knows of our little examination then all for the better! And what other way is there to be completely certain of ones sex than to actually closely view that ones anatomy?" _

Yes, the plan was perfect. Fail-proof.

…drug their friend, remove his shirt… when Alan awoke, they would claim that he had had another fainting spell, of which he was quite prone to anyhow…

It would work and they would then know for sure. If Gary was proven right, none would ever need to be wiser. And if Raoul was right… well, they would deal with that when they came to it.

Gary had specifically requested of his own Squire to call Jonathan away, so as the pair approached the Royal suite they side-stepped down the corridor and knocked straight on Alan's door.

The red haired Squire did not call out in reply, but cautiously opened the door from inside.

"We came to see if you wanted to go down to the Dancing Dove with us and visit George," Gary said in a rather rehearsed sing-song voice. "How about it?"

Of course, they could not really care less about seeing George, but entry into Alan's rooms was the ideal place to trap him.

Alan's face lit up then, and he beckoned them forward into his personal quarters.

_Brilliant._

"Sure, I'd like to go," Alan replied, moving to his bed to retrieve a set of worn leather boots.

It was as the Squire stood that Raoul's attention was drawn to the other side of the room, a flicker of movement catching his eye. "Great Mithros, a cat!" Raoul took a step away from the feline, his distaste clearly evident. "What are you doing with one of _those_? It probably has fleas."

"Fleas? Of course not!" Gareth rolled his eyes, picking up the small black cat that had wound its way around his legs. "A new pet, Alan?"

"Yes, I found him while I was away," Alan smiled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Or rather, _he_ found _me_."

"Then a toast is in order," Gareth smirked, handing the cat over to its master. "As is only fit to welcome the newest, fluffiest, and clearly the most intelligent member of our circle!" Neither knight had noticed the colour of said cat's eyes, nor the silent exchange that had passed between animal and Squire.

Raoul turned to the drinks cabinet, the small glass tube of sleeping potion hid within his big hands. The plan was going better than he could have ever hoped for so quickly. And far better sooner than later, for dawdling could be disastrous if Alan were to become even slightly suspicious.

As if hearing this, Alan's voice broke through his thoughts. "Should we not wait till we get into the city?"

There was an awkward silence.

"Well…" Gary struggled, raising his eyebrows. "Is it ever too early to start drinking? I think not! Let us celebrate now, and then again in Georges' company later."

Raoul laughed loudly, Alan gave a small smile, and the query of waiting was dealt with.

Quickly, Raoul sloppily poured out three glasses of wine, his back shielding the view from his two friends, and waited for Gareth to cause the distraction they had planned -showcasting his most resent accomplishment, the acquirement of Lady Delia's favourite handkerchief- before he added the final mixture to the last drink.

All was done. It was now or never. There could be no going back.

And it was then that all resolve left him, leaving Raoul to feel empty and hollow.

How could he do this to a friend? How would he live with himself afterwards?

But Alan would never know. No-one would, save himself and Gareth. It was an invasion of privacy, yes, but surely no harm would come of it… He definitely meant no harm, he just needed to know… he had to know…

Not thinking of what he did Raoul picked up two glasses, careful to note which contained what, and handed one each to Alan and Gareth, his palms sweaty and shaking.

Had this been such a great idea, really? Could he honestly say that he _really_, beyond all reasonable doubt, suspected that Alan were female? And, if by some insane chance that he -or she- was, did it actually change anything? What could possibly come of it all, except the inevitable guilt and embarrassment?

But it was too late.

Gary had turned to Alan, an eager smile on his lips, and words tipping easily out of his mouth. "What will you name him? _Is_ it a him?"

Alan nodded, a small frown creasing his forehead. "I rather like 'Faithful'," he admitted.

"Then to Faithful it is," Gary raised his glass high into the air, the other two automatically following suite. "And let the Gods do his name justice, with many a great and exciting adventures to come, and all his nine lives to be well spent."

"Hear hear," Raoul heard himself saying, the glass reaching, leaning, draining past his lips.

And he watched, awe-struck and terrified, as Alan slowly drained his own glass, the scarlet liquid too soon finished.

Raoul exchanged a look with Gareth, who was equally as pale and anxious, as several things happened in quick concession; Alan fell to a heap on the floor, the cat Faithful unleashed sharp claws on Raoul's leg while violently hissing, and the unmistakable noises of Jonathan's return sounded from the room next door.

… … …

A/N: Reviews are very much appreciated, as always.


	3. Chapter 3

Summary: Newly knighted, Gary and Raoul sit late one evening discussing mistresses and moustaches, their friend Squire Alan's uncanny lack of both, when a catastrophic realisation hits…

Disclaimer: All belongs to the one and only Tamora Pierce.

A/N: Ok, here it is, the long awaited finale. cough. Thanks goes to everyone for taking the time to read, and a huge thanks to those who reviewed! Without further ado, enjoy :-)

**Part Three**

**-Those You Know Best-**

… … … … …

Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

-Eugene O'Neill

… … … … …

Raoul could not believe his ill luck. How could everything possibly go so terribly, outrageously wrong? The Gods were against him, he was sure. Faithful (true to his name) continued to howl, ripping the flesh up his leg with impossibly sharp claws. The large knight stood frozen, half bent in pain, both fists crammed tight into his mouth, as he watched the world around him tumble down. Gareth tugged on the cat's tail, dismally trying to dislodge it, curses flying from his tongue like arrows.

The banging and clanging of Jonathans' return grew louder and louder, the Prince drawing nearer with each passing moment.

"We've got to hide him!" Gary whispered, abandoning his aid of Raoul's leg to point at the fallen Squire.

Raoul nodded his agreement, also ignoring the cat whose attack seemed never to lessen.

"Squire? Alan… are you there?"

Jonathan's voice rang out loud and deep, sounding their doom as the door knob adjoining his room to Alan's crunched downwards.

"Quick!" Raoul whispered frantically, and without ever thinking of what he was about to do he jumped clean into the air, diving with amazing speed onto Alan's still form, and grabbing onto the small Squire he rolled them both under the bed - cat still lodged firmly to his limb. Gareth, with a loud THUMP, arrived next to them a second later.

Silence. Then…

"Alan? What _are_ you up to in there?"

And the door swung open, inviting the two older knights capture with a creak of prolonged delight. Gary and Raoul remained completely unmoving, their breath stopped, their hearts racing, peering under the bed at their Princes shiny, looming boots. Even Faithful left off his attack for the time, sensing the situations need for utter stillness.

"Alan?" Jonathan's boots took two steps forward. "Where are you?"

Nothing. Dead, eerie quiet.

"Are you hiding?" Jonathan asked incredulously to the apparently empty room.

His boots took another step. And another. And another, moving slowly towards the old oak closet. Raoul craned his neck around Gareth's big head and watched, horrified -for he realised then that Jonathan would proceed to search the room until he found them- as the Prince swung the closet door open with a whoop of triumph.

"Uhuh! Oh… Alan? I'm really not much in the mood for this," the Prince whined and again Raoul guessed, from long experience with Jonathan, that his friend was pouting. "Come out! I don't _care_ what you're doing, it's just me - it's not as if I haven't seen you bare now, hmm?"

Gareth gagged and turned his face to Raouls', both eyebrows raised, and mouthed words over the top of Alan's bright hair, whom lay face first in the dusty floorboards perched between them. _'This. Is. Useless.'_

Raoul groaned, loudly, and let his neck release the weight of his skull to send it plonking hard on the floor. All his hopes of escape evaporated then and there. He gave up, knowing it a lost cause to carry on.

Jonathan jumped. Faithful sneezed, having swallowed a dust ball.

"Who is that? Alan!" Jonathan's boots hurried away from the bed. "Beware, I have a sword and I know how to use it!"

"No, you don't you daft bugger," Gary's voice barked back. "It was the first thing you dropped upon your return! Obviously too much of a heavy inconvenience for our dainty little monarch."

"Gary? What the…"

"Hold on," Gary answered, and rolled out from under the bed. Trying (and failing) to regain a little dignity he pompously stood and brushed the dust from his trousers, as if hiding under others beds was a usual occurrence.

"What, in the Mothers name, are you _doing_?" Jonathan demanded to know, quite indignant to Gareth's earlier teasing.

"Wait," Gary merely stated in reply, and bent down to pull Alan out from the bed by his boot.

"What?…" Jonathan spluttered, staring down at his -_he couldn't be dead? Squire_- growing angrier still.

Gary just sighed, and added simply, "there's more."

Raoul, taking this as his cue, cuddled Faithful to his chest and became the last to surface, rolling from under the bed and colliding with an "oof" next to Alan's comatose body.

"I want an explanation. Now."

"I," Gareth replied, "want a bath."

"And I," Raoul groaned, grudgingly aware that Gary would blame him entirely, "want a brandy."

"What's wrong with Alan?" Jonathan asked, looking mildly worried as he gently prodding his Squire with a booted foot. "What have you done to him?"

"Oh, he's fine," Gary reassured him with a wave of his arm. "Only Raoul here is convinced that your Squire is a woman, so we drugged him to remove his shirt and examine the chestal arena… if you catch my drift."

"You _what_?"

"Let me explain!" Raoul cried and he sat up from the floor, Faithful still cradled in his arms. His fail-proof plan may not prove to be exactly fruitless yet. "It actually makes perfect sense, you see - "

"No!" Jonathan interrupted, slightly panicked. "It's not true! I know for fact that Alan _is_ male."

"You're positive?" Raoul asked, franticly hoping that Jonathan may be mistaken and that he would not look such a fool. "You're incontestabley, absolutely, definitely, clearly certain?"

Gareth rolled his eyes.

"Explicitly," the Prince nodded. "Why, I have seen him bare on many occasions, and mark my words there is no question."

"Many?" Gary snorted, again holding his eyebrows high. "Why, I have never seen the lad even half bare once, and nor for that matter has _anyone_ else! What, may I ask, makes you so privy to Alan's physique?"

"Well," Jon answered tartly, "obviously you are not trusted with such a sight."

"Not _trusted_?" Gary repeated, his face growing hot. "But please, pray tell,_ why _is it that Alan is so selective in his audience?"

"_That_ is not for me to tell."

"Oh yes, but you will tell, wont you - "

"Or we will make you - "

"Well," Jonathan began again slowly, caught in indecision. Fear blossomed in his chest, and he felt too pressured not to give some sort of semi answer. "That's because… because…," he paused, and a smile grew on his lips as a plausible reply formed. "Alan has Gayonellous disease, he's very insecure about it - doesn't inform anyone - you know how shy he is - "

"Gayonellous? What? - "

"I've never heard of it - "

"Retarded hair growth, pusstulous bulges, purple rashes, often in consequence he suffers from awful diarrhoea. Ever wonder _why_ his eyes are such a deathly peculiar colour? It's rather unpleasant for him, see, he keeps it a complete secret - "

"I don't believe it," Raoul shook his head. "Gayonellous disease… I suppose that could make sense. Kind of."

"Unquestionably," Jonathan agreed, and he could make no effort in hiding exactly how relieved he was that they appeared to believe him. "Once I knew - oh, it fits entirely - always thought there was something a little odd about our Alan, right? Oh!" Jonathan paused, frowning, "But you mustn't tell anyone! No - Alan would be most upset - I gave him my word that I'd keep my mouth shut, see - "

"Alright, alright," Gary interrupted. "We wont tell. I promise."

Jonathan looked breathlessly at Raoul, who quickly nodded back. "Oh good."

"Yes, well," Gary smiled, for once unusually lost for words. His eyes flicked from Alan's frothing mouth, to Jonathan's sweat soaked forehead, to Raoul's bloody, shredded trouser leg, and swiftly came to the conclusion that is was well past time to depart. "Raoul and I were off to visit George," he informed Jonathan, predicting the answer to his unasked question before he voiced it. "Would you care to join us?"

"Uh," the Prince cleared his throat, shuffling his feet. "No. No… I think I should stay here with Alan, in case he wakes up."

"Oh, yes. Right. Of course."

"Well," Raoul grinned, unable to think of anything remotely challenging to say. He had never been planted in such an uncouth, uncomfortable position. "Well," he began again, "we'll see you later then, I suppose."

The large knight handed a squirming Faithful to Jonathan, they bid polite, breathless farewells and exited the still unconscious Squire's suite as fast as they could.

"You didn't really buy that codswallop, did you?"

Raoul sighed. "No, definitely not. Though I do congratulate Jonathan on his ability to make a story like so in such little time, with evidently no preparation."

"Gayonellous disease," Gareth scoffed, holding out his hand palm up. "You owe me twenty. And to think, after all that, they _were_ homosexual all along."

"Yes," Raoul replied, though he didn't think he quite agreed.

But the mystery of Squire Alan of Trebond, which he had previously been all for solving, no longer came with much interest. He was through with his prying and meddling. And Raoul thought, when the day was done and gone, he could wait till the end to find out, and he would wait, patiently, till Alan was ready to tell him. Days, months, years… time was of little matter to fate.

… … …

A/N: And like always, reviews are very much appreciated :-)


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